


of cold arms and pale lips

by Pink Panda (Ejacyeolation)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character death occurs before the start of the fic, Drama, Eventual Smut, Ghost Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Murder, References to Depression, Smut, Supernatural Elements, ghost! Viktor, i mean as happy as a ghost fic can get??????, mentions of makkachin - Freeform, sad ghost sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15339066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejacyeolation/pseuds/Pink%20Panda
Summary: Yuuri is torn between laughing and crying at the absurdity of the situation. The whole point of him leaving was so he could run away from the (literal) ghost of his past yet here he is, watching a silver-haired apparition dance ballet to classical music.By the time the song ends, Yuuri’s cheeks are wet and he finds that he’s been clutching at his shirt, his hand directly above his heart. The ghost stands before him holding a pose, one arm extended towards Yuuri and a pale finger pointing at him. A moment passes before the ghost seemingly sags, his arms dropping to his sides and his body losing its graceful posture. The ghost smiles, a forlorn upturn of pale lips, and he whispers, “Thank you.”





	1. Chapter 1

He prides himself on his ability to stay in people’s blind spots, knowing just when to act and knowing how to trick people’s brains into making him blend in with the environment. To their brains, he’s a blemish, an anomaly that they can’t figure out and so they simply erase him from their sight. Nobody takes notice of him unless he wants them to, unless he does something that warrants their fleeting attention.

That’s fine by him.

He feels the slight rumble of the ground and lifts one foot up, letting it dangle precariously by the edge of the platform. No one takes notice, people going on with their lives as though nothing were amiss. He figures that if he does it just right, if he jumps at the perfect moment, he’d get away with it. The people milling around, they would only be able to see him once he gets into the bigger picture— in front of a fast-approaching train. 

That’s fine by him.

The rumbling gets stronger, reverberating inside him through his bones and into the hollow pit in his chest. He sees a girl from the corner of his eye, blond hair tied up into pigtails and a tattered doll hanging from her hand. It’s obvious she’s not one of them, proof being the gaping hole where a fraction of her skull used to be and the red splattered on her dress. For a fleeting moment, he allows himself to think about her, to briefly imagine what life she used to lead and what led to her death, then he prepares for the jump.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Yuuri whips his head around, staring at the man standing beside him. Blue eyes stare back, a ghost of a frown hanging around the space between the man’s eyebrows. Yuuri’s eyes shift and lands on a shock of silvery gray hair, his mouth almost opening to sound a response. He stops, blood running cold as he spots his mistake just as the man hurriedly speaks.

“You can see me?”

There’s a deafening ringing in his ears, his once hollow chest feeling heavy with dread. He turns, willing himself to calm down. Darting his eyes around, he sees that none of the others have paid the exchange much attention, but that would soon change if he doesn’t get away from the place. He can feel the silver-haired man’s gaze on him, a hand raised as if to reach out and grab him.

 _No_ , Yuuri thinks. _Not this shit again_. He remembers how he had once interacted with one of them, a high school girl sporting a gunshot over her chest. She had followed him home, turning malevolent once Yuuri made it clear he was not open to having a roommate. That situation had escalated into a monthly appointment with a shrink and a one-way ticket to live halfway across the world.

He begins to walk, intent on going to a nearby mall area where he plans to lose the silver-haired man in the crowd. He maintains a brisk pace, moving against the rush of people heading for their morning commute. He rounds a corner and uses this opportunity to check behind him, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the silver-haired man still standing by the platform, watching people board the train.

Yuuri runs for it, periodically checking behind him to make sure he still isn’t being followed. He still takes the long way home, making sure he passes by as many crowds as he can, doing his best to blend in. It’s only when he’s checked about a hundred times behind him and another hundred through the peephole of his door that he allows himself to breathe. He makes his way into his room on wobbly legs, his limbs shaking from the effort it takes him to contain the sobs threatening to spill out.

Staying in people’s blind spots is one of his skills, seeing and being able to interact with ghosts is another. One skill he took pride in and utilized on a daily basis, the other the reason why there are scars adorning his skin. Both gifts of sight, one allowing him to evade it and one allowing him to see beyond what is human. He drags a hand over his face, the image of blood-matted silver hair burned into his retinas. The blue-eyed man had seemed upset at Yuuri, most probably aware of his own death and unable to believe that one of the living would want that for themselves, would willingly throw away their life when his had obviously been stolen from him.

Yuuri has half the mind to feel guilty. He walks over to the bathroom, stripping himself of the heavy winter clothes while he lets the tub fill with warm water. Tomorrow, he would go look for a job again, hopefully one with a decent enough pay that he can stop receiving the money his parents send him on a monthly basis. Then he’d be able to stop talking to them and stop pretending for their sake that their son is perfectly sane.

His parents love him, that he’s sure of. They make sure he knows this by telling him through text and through call on the rare occasion that he answers the phone. Every time he’d get the envelope containing the cash his parents continuously shelled out for him, there would be a note inside. Sometimes it would be his mother reminding him to never skip meals, sometimes it would be his father asking him when he’d be coming back, and, on rare occasions, it would be his sister asking him how he’s doing.

He never answers any of the notes, but he keeps them in a small container, along with the few items he had allowed himself to take with him from his old home.

Tomorrow, he would look for a job. He’s not hopeful, his bachelor’s degree and various skills usually boiling down to nothing once employers flip over the pages of his resume and they see the medical warning that he comes with.

Tomorrow, he would try, but today he simply climbs into the bathtub and wishes the water would somehow find its way over his head.

 

 

 

Yuuri wants to act surprised, wants to feel surprised, but he had expected this. The woman behind the desk is looking at him with an almost apologetic look in her eyes, her mouth moving along to the words that Yuuri has been hearing interview after interview for over six months now.

“We’ll let you know, expect a call from us,” is one of the most common ones, most companies not even bothering to come up with an excuse to not hire him. There’s also the mighty, “The spot’s already been filled, but we’ll keep your contact details in case we have an opening.” The woman uses something along those lines, visibly squirming uncomfortably when Yuuri fails to react on time.

“Mister...” she looks down at his paper. “... Katsuki. Mister Katsuki, are you alright?”

“Sorry,” he says slowly, his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. This had been the last interview on his list, all the others had been failures of similar kind. “Thank you for lending me your time.” He takes his files from the woman’s hands, bows his head, and leaves the building. A part of him wants to scream, wants to tear at his suit and rip his hair out from its roots. An act like that wouldn’t really do much damage at this point, not when everybody already thinks he’s crazy.

The cold air outside hits him across the face the moment he steps a foot onto the asphalt, snow already collecting on the ground. He brings his scarf up to cover half of his face, keeping his head turned down and his eyes firmly latched on the ground before him. He lets his feet lead the way, walking with no particular destination in mind. His hands start to feel numb, the thin gloves doing nothing to protect them from the cold. Each breath he takes is a bit more painful than the last, and when it becomes too much to endure, he lifts his head and looks around, trying to determine where he’d ended up.

His eyes catches sight of a person walking down the street opposite him, facing away from him and giving Yuuri a clear view of his soiled clothes. There’s a mixture of excrement and blood on the hospital gown and Yuuri shivers, turning away before noticing the store in front of him. The neon sign is turned off, cursive letters spelling out _Eri’s Music_ , and the exterior of the store looks like it needs some repairing here and there. What truly catches Yuuri’s attention is the sign hanging around the store’s door, words written out in a crude handwriting.

**_Hiring: Store Clerk_ **

Yuuri clutches at the documents in his hand, peering inside the shop to see a decent number of customers walking around and perusing CDs and albums. He’s opening the door before he registers what he’s doing, the chime of the bell drawing very little attention from the customers and only an inquisitive look from the man standing behind the counter.

“Yes?” the man prompts when Yuuri just stands there, gawking. “Can I help you?”

“I read the sign,” he blurts out, walking towards the counter. At the man’s raised eyebrow, Yuuri rushes to add, “The hiring. You’re still hiring, yes?”

Yuuri thinks he sees relief wash over the man’s expression before he grins at Yuuri, seemingly in triumph. “Hey boss, what did I tell you about that sign? We already have an applicant.” He turns to Yuuri, leaning over the counter to appraise the latter’s appearance. “You look fancy. You sure you want to work here? Pay’s not bad but it can’t buy you a suit like that.”

Yuuri blinks, looking down and wincing. He had picked this outfit thinking he’d be able to impress the employers, maybe make him look put together and capable of a desk job. He almost snorts at how stupid and naive the idea was. “I’ve been looking for a job,” he explains, glancing up and immediately looking away when he sees the smirk aimed at him. “I’ve worked at a shop before.”

“Fantastic,” the man beams just as someone claps him on the back. He turns to the taller male standing behind him and gestures to Yuuri. “Says he’s worked at a shop before.”

The taller male, a blonde with a muscular frame and a reasonably attractive face, jerks his head at Yuuri and motions for him to follow. He’s lead to the backroom, an office of some sort, and the blonde looks at him expectantly, a hand outstretched. Yuuri realizes the man is waiting for him to hand over his files.

Yuuri’s folder in hand, the man walks around his desk and sits down, briefly flipping through the papers. He stops at the last page, the one detailing Yuuri’s mental health, then opens a drawer and promptly shoves the folder inside. “Kristoff, the guy outside, will be going back to university soon. You’d have to take over his shift. You alright with working until around 10 PM?”

“Yes, sir,” Yuuri answers, his heart beating loudly against his chest. The man briefly asks him about his experience working at his parent’s inn, seemingly satisfied that he won’t be needing any training regarding the counter and customer assistance. He thanks the man, shaking his large hand, and exits the room feeling infinitesimally lighter. The shift would be long, starting from 9 AM to 10 PM, but the pay would be more than enough to cover his rent and living expenses.

Kristoff spots him and nods. When Yuuri answers with the slightest bit of a smile, the other male winks at him. “See you tomorrow.”

 

 

 

As it turns out, the store has a pretty decent amount of loyal patrons. Kristoff’s job usually consists of locating CDs and albums for customers, restocking shelves, working the counter, and cleaning around the store. Yuuri shadows him for a day and then they split the work between them, Yuuri mostly taking on cleaning and restocking.

A week passes by and Yuuri settles into a routine. He arrives on time, cleans the store, restocks, eats lunch, cleans whenever there aren’t any customers around, and occasionally helps out with the counter. He realizes that there really isn’t much to do at the store despite the long shift, which is probably why he usually sees Kristoff sneaking around the backroom to nap or use his phone. When the other male isn’t doing his job or slacking off, he’s bugging Yuuri.

“You know, you’re really quiet,” Kristoff tells him, watching Yuuri rearranging their CD display. “Like, really, really, _really_ quiet.”

Yuuri laughs, the sound sounding nervous and forced even to his own ears. He doesn’t know what Kristoff expects him to say to that and because he can’t think of a response himself, he goes back to rearranging the CDs. He feels the other male’s eyes on him and turns to Kristoff, racking his brain for something to say.

Kristoff speaks again before Yuuri can formulate something to say. “You are Asian, right?”

Yuuri nods, thankful that this, at the very least, he can answer. “Japanese.”

The other male moves so he isn’t just staring at Yuuri work, grabbing a few CDs and arranging them. From what Yuuri sees, Kristoff mostly just pulls out random CDs, looks at them, then places them back. He asks, “What does your name mean?”

Yuuri hesitates, surprised by the question. “The kanji of Yuuri can be read as “courage to win” or something like that.” At that, he feels Kristoff turn to look at him. Yuuri meets the other male’s eyes and squirms when Kristoff just keeps on staring. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Kristoff says, moving away from the shelves. He opens his mouth, seemingly to say something, but quickly closes it again, his eyes snapping down to glance at Yuuri’s scarred wrist before flicking away. He’s looking at something on Yuuri’s cheek when he says, “I’m off, school starts tomorrow. I’ll see you around on Friday.”

Yuuri hums in response, moving on to the next shelf and waving goodbye at the other male. With Kristoff gone and few customers around, the only thing that fills the silence of the place is the music. The owner had explained to him how to use the sound system and had given him a flash drive containing the week’s playlist. Yuuri is unfamiliar with most of the songs but he finds that none of them are terrible. He would often look at the laptop, liking a song enough that he would write down the title on his phone so he’d be able to listen to it at home.

He sees the customer looking around the counter, a couple of CDs in hand, and he rushes to attend to them. Not many people come in after that, one or two looking around but not buying anything. Around nine, the owner leaves him with Kristoff’s copy of the keys to the front door, tasking Yuuri with closing up. Alone and with nothing to do, he starts flipping through the songs on the laptop, looking for familiar ones.

With a song playing, he wanders around the store, cleaning up as he went. No one comes in, no one usually does around this hour, and he’s able to do the closing cleaning just as the song comes to an end. Another song comes on, one he’s unfamiliar with, so he moves to change it when he sees someone standing in front of the counter.

He feels his stomach drop, his legs unwilling to move any further once his eyes settle on blood-stained silver hair. There’s a tightness in his throat that he knows would result in a scream if he unscrews his mouth open, so he keeps it shut, eyes flickering to the CCTV camera closest to him. He tells himself to breathe, orders his legs to move and carry him towards the counter.

 _I’ll pretend I don’t see him_ , he tells himself. _He’ll go away. He’ll go away. He has to go away._

Yuuri keeps his face expressionless and walks toward the counter, watching from the corner of his eye as the ghost turns to look at him. He reaches for the laptop to change the song, already about to click on the NEXT button when something stops him.

“Please don’t.”

Yuuri’s hand stills, long enough for it to be an obvious response to the ghost’s words. He wants to punch himself, wants to hurt himself so bad for being so goddamn stupid. He tries to think of his next move, tries to come up with a way that he’d able to brush off his hesitation and keep on pretending that he’s the only one in the store right now.

“I...” the ghost starts, interrupting his thoughts. When the man speaks again, Yuuri notes how his voice is thick with emotion. “I remember this.”

There’s something almost desperate in the ghost’s tone, something that causes Yuuri to slowly look up. The ghost isn’t looking at him, blue eyes staring down at his hands. Then the ghost moves and Yuuri is just about ready to bolt until he sees the silver-haired man twirl, hands extended as if they were holding someone against him.

It takes Yuuri a moment to understand what the ghost is doing. The music, the movement of his body... Yuuri has been able to see ghosts all his life, but he has never seen a ghost dance ballet up until that very moment.

The man dances with the utmost grace, leaping into the air and landing on his toes. Yuuri finds himself entranced, watching everything with wide eyes. He catches glimpses of the ghost’s expression, face filled with such sorrow that Yuuri feels something in his heart flutter in response. He feels tears prick behind his eyes, bewildering him, and he chalks it up to his brain being unable to cope with the fact that he’s watching a ghost dance with both immense beauty and unbearable sadness.

Yuuri is torn between laughing and crying at the absurdity of the situation. The whole point of him leaving was so he could run away from the ghost of his past yet here he is, watching a silver-haired apparition dance ballet to classical music. 

By the time the song ends, Yuuri’s cheeks are wet and he finds that he’s been clutching at his shirt, his hand directly above his heart. The ghost stands before him holding a pose, one arm extended towards Yuuri and a pale finger pointing at him. A moment passes before the ghost seemingly sags, his arms dropping to his sides and his body losing its graceful posture. The ghost smiles, a forlorn upturn of pale lips, and he whispers, “Thank you.”

 

 

 

When Yuuri arrives the following morning, the owner looks at him strangely. He sees the owner’s eyes flicker down to look at his wrists, an almost imperceptible nod following soon after. “Are you okay?” the owner asks him, much to Yuuri’s surprise.

Yuuri thinks back to what happened last night, belatedly realizing what it must have looked like through the CCTV footage: Yuuri, standing by the counter, listening to classical music and crying while staring into space. He looks down at his arms, wondering if the owner had been checking to see if Yuuri had attempted to do something.

Not that he would see anything there even if Yuuri does decide to hurt himself. It’s been months since he came to the realization that cuts on his arms were just too noticeable, too risky.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, maintaining eye contact with the owner. “I’m okay, thank you for asking.”

At his answer, the owner nods and leaves him to do his job. With Kristoff’s absence, the owner lets Yuuri eat lunch at the backroom while the blonde male takes over the counter. Yuuri eats as fast as he can without choking on his food, the owner’s surprise evident when Yuuri returns to his post not more than ten minutes after he left.

“It’s fine, I’m a fast eater,” he tells the owner. An elderly man approaches them, asking for a copy of The Carpenters’ last album. Yuuri takes this as his signal to get back to work.

The store is busier than usual today, Yuuri noticing how he’s almost never alone the whole time. He interacts with most of the customers, following the tips that Kristoff had given him. On more than one occasion, Yuuri is asked for his recommendation and he timidly suggests a band that he’s recently gotten into. He smiles when a couple of people listen to his recommendation and buy the album.

Before leaving, the owner reminds him he can close shop before 10 PM. Yuuri nods, his eye flickering to the clock. He watches as the number of customers dwindle down until he’s down to the last one, a student who looks around as if only noticing for the first time how late it is and that he’s the last one there. The student mumbles an apology and heads out without buying anything.

The ghost returns right before Yuuri’s about to shut down the laptop, making his heart race and his body go rigid for a second. He feels himself relax when he sees the ghost giving him a small smile. Yuuri thinks he might just be imagining things but the smile looks almost sheepish, a request hiding behind the ghost’s blue eyes. He looks at the ghost then at the laptop, a silent question. The ghost nods, making the hair on the back of Yuuri’s neck raise.

He looks for the same song from last night, ignoring the way his mind screams at him for interacting with a ghost and fulfilling its request. As if to make him painfully aware of the mistake he’s about to make, his mind flashes back to the last time he had been stupid enough to associate himself with the dead, his hand stilling before he could press PLAY. He looks at the ghost, still smiling at him shyly, and remembers how it had simply disappeared after dancing last night.

He plays the song and watches as the ghost immediately starts dancing, the movements similar from last night but somehow appearing more calculated. Yuuri has no doubt that this ghost, this man, used to be a great dancer before he had died. The thought of that reminds Yuuri of the blood on the man’s hair, knowing that if he were to look he would see the wound on the man’s skull.

Similar to last night, the performance ends with the silver-haired man pointing at him and then disappearing into thin air, leaving Yuuri breathless and with a strange sort of sadness that has him screwing his eyes closed. He stays rooted in place for a few moments, the silence surrounding him doing nothing to ease the thoughts scattered around his brain. He starts packing up, his body moving on auto-pilot and his mind still trying racing. He knows he shouldn’t entertain the ghost, shouldn’t have in the first place and shouldn’t continue to do so. On the forefront of his mind he knows this couldn’t possibly end well.

Still, he finds himself listening to the little voice speaking to his conscience, the part of him that tells him that the silver-haired dancer wouldn’t do anything to him. This little voice tells him that Yuuri might not know the man but he knows the look in the dead man’s eyes, knows it because he sees it every time he looks in a mirror and every time he sees himself reflected in people’s eyes. He knows what it feels like to be surrounded by people but still be all alone.

Yuuri knows what it’s like to be invisible.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He has his doubts when it becomes a nightly occurrence, his mind still telling him that he’s making a mistake. During the first week, the hair on his arms and on his nape still raise whenever the ghost appears, his body only calming down once the other male starts dancing. Yuuri has a mini panic attack one time when the ghost doesn’t immediately disappear after his performance, looking around the store for a couple of minutes before turning to Yuuri with a smile.

“I think I used to like music,” the silver-haired man says, a quiet longing in his voice. It’s only then that Yuuri notices how the ghost articulates, not quite like how the locals speak and certainly far from how Yuuri does. He tries to identify the thick accent, wondering if the ghost was a foreigner visiting the country when he had been killed. The thought makes Yuuri clench his hands into fists. The ghost vanishes before Yuuri can even debate the repercussions if he were to open his mouth.

He thinks that he and the ghost have somehow settled into a peculiar routine, one that bothers him less and less as the days go by. If the owner notices how Yuuri plays the exact same song then proceeds to stare off into space every night, he doesn’t comment on it. Yuuri thinks the owner just chalks up his behavior to the depression diagnosis.

He comes to expect the ghost’s arrival, his skin no longer breaking into goose bumps whenever the silver-haired man materializes in front of him. It’s gotten to the point that he feels bad whenever the man finishes dancing and Yuuri is unable to respond, to maybe clap his hand because the performance is definitely worth thunderous applause. If someone had told him that there would come a day when he would feel guilty over not showing appreciation for a ghost, he would have laughed in their face.

He comes to expect the ghost’s arrival and so it completely throws him off when closing time comes around and the ghost doesn’t make an appearance. He still plays the song, thinking that maybe it would invite the ghost in, but a good half hour passes and no one comes. He waits, pretending to clean and rearrange the display, then he winces when he sees how it’s almost 11 PM and he still hasn’t left to go home.

He gives up on waiting, feeling confused and incensed with himself for wasting time on a _fucking_ ghost. A part of his mind, the one that had been responsible for this whole fiasco, reminds him of why he’s been spending the last minutes of his day with the ghost. _So what if he’s lonely?_ he challenges, thoughts thick with anger. _I’m fucking lonely and all he does is dance around then disappear into thin fucking air._

He pushes out the door and hastily locks it with the spare key, arguing with himself along the way. He’s in the middle of justifying his anger when he turns around and almost jumps into the air, thoroughly taken by surprise. Standing a good meter in front of him is the ghost he had just been cursing out in his mind. He thinks the ghost looks apologetic, blue eyes seemingly unable to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

Yuuri looks around at the people still outside despite the time and the harsh weather. He takes his phone out of his pocket and slowly brings it to his ears. To anyone else, he’d look like he’s just talking on the phone. He opens his mouth, a dozen of questions ready to spill out but he settles on the one that has been bothering him the longest.

“What’s your name?”

The ghost looks taken aback, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from Yuuri, but he quickly recovers. “Viktor. I’m Viktor.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri repeats, testing the name out. “Okay, Viktor, what happened? Why didn’t you come inside?”

Viktor shrugs, his eyes darting to look at the store. “I didn’t feel like dancing today.”

Yuuri huffs, kicking at the snow by his feet. “I was waiting for you, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says, giving Yuuri a small smile. “Do you like it? My dance? You never react to it anymore.”

Yuuri remembers how he had cried the first time he saw Viktor dancing, tears spilling out his eyes and down his cheeks. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth had also been hanging open in awe. He blushes at the memory, rushing to explain himself. “I do like your dancing. I like it very much, but I can’t react. There are cameras inside the store, if my boss saw me clapping at thin air...” he trails off, waiting for understanding to dawn on Viktor’s face. When Viktor’s look of slight confusion doesn’t change, Yuuri adds, “I’ve already been diagnosed with depression and anxiety, if my boss sees me talking to you he’d just see me talking to... well, talking to nothing. He’d think I’m crazy and he’d fire me.”

Yuuri had never mentioned the seeing-ghosts thing to any of the doctors that he talked to. He knows that no amount of proof or explaining would prove to anyone that he’s not just hallucinating and he would probably end up with a schizophrenia diagnosis for his effort and honesty.

After seemingly processing Yuuri’s explanation, Viktor nods. “I see. I’m not used to being invisible.” The forlorn look is back, much to Yuuri’s dismay. “You’re the first person who has ever talked to me ever since I...” the silver-haired man shrugs, gesturing to his head.

 _Ever since you were murdered,_ Yuuri supplies. He looks at the blood staining the man’s hair and he feels something akin to anger at that thought, his grip on the phone tightening. He wants to ask Viktor if he remembers how he died but thinks better of it, realizing that a question like that could potentially offend the other male. Yuuri might be beyond stupid but he knows that it does no one any good to offend spirits.

“I don’t remember how it happened,” Viktor tells him, as if he had read Yuuri’s mind. It makes Yuuri wince, almost cutting off the ghost to tell him that they don’t need to talk about it. Before he can do just that, Viktor continues, “I remember feeling cold, but I didn’t hate it.” 

Yuuri opens his mouth to speak but notices a couple looking at him, probably thinking he’s stupid for standing in the middle of the street and letting snow collect on top of his head. They wouldn’t be wrong about the stupid part and he can most definitely feel the bite of the cold starting to make his teeth chatter. Yuuri wonders if it would be better to have this conversation tomorrow, wonders if Viktor would even show up after this. Before he can have another argument with himself, Yuuri motions for Viktor to walk with him.

“Where are we going?” Viktor asks, walking with Yuuri but keeping a respectable distance between them.

Yuuri hesitates, his brain replaying scenes of countless appointments with shrinks, nights spent crying himself numb, and the look his mother had given him when he had told her it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if he were to move away. He looks at Viktor, at the hopeful look in his eyes.

He almost groans when he hears his conscience reminding him how they’re both lonely, how he’s going to do this because it’s apparent that Viktor needs someone.

Because it’s apparent, although he would never admit it, that Yuuri needs someone, too.

From this distance, Yuuri realizes that Viktor’s eyes are actually an uncanny mix between blue and green. From this angle, Yuuri can almost pretend that there isn’t blood clinging to Viktor’s silvery hair.

In that moment, Yuuri sees Viktor as the human he once was, the human he still deserves to be.

“We’re going home.”

 

 

 

When Yuuri had first seen the apartment complex, he had not cared much about anything other than it being so cheap. He had taken one good look at the contract (specifically the rent that he would have to pay on a monthly basis) and one fleeting look at the unit itself before telling the landlord that he’d be taking it. Having moved during the summer, almost everything had gone well for him at the unit. He had taken notice of the occasional creaks of the floorboard, had gotten used to the yellow walls of the bathroom. None of those things had bothered him as they had been a small price to pay for such cheap rent.

A week into his first winter there had him almost banging at the landlord’s office, ready to complain about his unit’s frigid temperature. He had gone from quiet bliss (as much bliss as one can have when you can see ghosts) to fearing he’d die from hypothermia. He had been a few steps away from the door when he’d remembered the elderly woman warning him that it could get unforgivingly cold during winters as the place lacked a central heating system. Turning back the way he had come, he’d told himself he would get a heater somehow.

It’s been over a year and Yuuri still has to grit his teeth through the cold nights.

He leads Viktor into his room and almost motions for him to sit down, blinking when he realizes that the man might no longer be used to doing human things. “I, uh, would you like to take a seat?”

Viktor nods, looking around for a spot. Yuuri’s face burns when they both come to realize that there aren’t any chairs in the room. “We can sit on the bed,” he suggests, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he’s an idiot for letting a ghost into his house and an ever bigger idiot for letting him into his bed.

They both sit on the edge of the bed and a moment passes without them talking. “Why didn’t you want to dance today?” Yuuri blurts out, finding the silence just a tad bit uncomfortable.

Viktor frowns, crossing his legs and bringing both his hands to rest on his knee. Like this, he looks so normal, so human. Yuuri finds himself staring at the man a moment too long, slightly startling when Viktor says, “There’s something missing. The ground, it doesn’t feel right.”

Yuuri’s brows draw together in confusion. “The ground? The ground... in the store? What’s wrong with it?”

Viktor smiles, the same damn smile that makes Yuuri’s chest constrict in pain. “The first time I danced in your little store, it felt good but something was missing. I thought it was because I could feel that there were parts of the dance missing, the performance lacking in movement. I’ve forgotten a lot of things from my life,” Viktor explains, meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “Sometimes I would, out of nowhere, remember random bits here and there, sometimes something would remind me of what I’ve lost.”

“The music in the store, it reminded you of dancing.” Yuuri had initially meant for it to come out as question but he ends up stating it instead. “You’ve slowly been remembering the dance and that’s why I kept feeling like you got better and better each day.” He doesn’t even let himself feel embarrassed upon realizing that he had just inadvertently complimented the ghost, thinking that Viktor deserves to know how good he is. 

“The dance is complete; I’ve remembered every step, every turn, every leap, but yesterday it still didn’t feel right. I realized today that the ground... I used to dance on ice.”

Yuuri takes a moment to think about it, trying to remember what sport it’s called. “Do you mean figure skating?”

Viktor nods, bringing a hand up to run through silvery hair. “Today I tried to remember things about skating but I couldn’t. I thought that maybe it would be easier since my body seems to remember it.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri automatically says. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, wondering what exactly he’s apologizing for. Is he sorry that Viktor died, that someone murdered him? Is he sorry that Viktor is stuck here, stagnant, unable to move on, trying to piece together memories? Is he sorry that Viktor had to see him try to kill himself?

“It’s okay,” Viktor says, the look on his eyes alluding that it isn’t exactly _okay_. “I did remember something, though. My dog, Makkachin. I remember telling him I’d be back soon.”

The influx of questions that suddenly pops into Yuuri’s mind almost overwhelms him. He wants to ask if Viktor remembers if he had lived here, if he remembers how long it’s been since he died. As if reading his thoughts once again, Viktor tells him, “It’s probably impossible for me to say goodbye to him. I’m Russian, I don’t think I lived here.”

 _So why did you have to die here?_ Yuuri clamps his mouth shut, knowing that voicing thoughts like that wouldn’t help.

“I remember wanting to spend more time with Makkachin,” the silver-haired man says, looking at Yuuri and smiling. “He was getting really old, my Makkachin.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what evil spirit possesses him, his hand seemingly moving on its own accord to reach out and touch Viktor’s hand. He doesn’t flinch as his fingers make contact with icy skin, holding on to Viktor and hoping he could make the other man feel how much Yuuri wishes he could help.

Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand and brings it up to his lips. Yuuri’s brain scrambles to make sense of what’s happening, why a ghost is kissing his knuckles and why his heart feels like it’s going to beat right out his chest. Viktor looks at him, his blue-green eyes soft and _am I going crazy or are those tears?_ With his lips still pressed to the skin of Yuuri’s hand, Viktor whispers, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Yuuri asks, wanting to slap himself for stuttering. He’s painfully aware of how Viktor moves their hands away from his mouth. He waits for Viktor to let go, not understanding the patterns the man is drawing on his hand. Yuuri’s chest hurts and he feels his face become impossibly warmer when he realizes that they’re holding hands.

“For making me feel like I’m not alone.”

Yuuri can only manage a nod, his eyes focused on the floor in order to avoid looking at their entwined hands. He tries to understand how he feels about the whole thing, unable to come up with a logical reason as to why he’s blushing and why he doesn’t want Viktor to let go. They stay like that for a while before Yuuri feels the cold become unbearable and he has to extract himself from Viktor’s hold.

“I need to get some sleep, I have work tomorrow,” he says. “Would you... would you like to stay?”

“Yes, I would like that.” The smile on Viktor’s lips as he says this looks almost playful, making Yuuri blush and mumble something about changing his clothes.

Yuuri half-walks half-runs to get a change of clothes and make his way into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and slumping against it. He reaches out a hand to feel his forehead, borderline amazed at how warm his face feels.

“Okay, calm the fuck down,” he whispers, following it up with a mantra of _calm down, calm down, calm down_. He pointedly ignores his reflection, stripping out of his work clothes and into his pajamas. With the dirty clothes haphazardly thrown into the hamper, he stomps out of the bathroom before he can convince himself to stay in there for the night. He stops in his tracks when he sees Viktor lying on the bed, on top of the covers and with his back facing Yuuri.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Yuuri thinks. _I don’t even know this guy, he could strangle me while I sleep._ He contemplates making a run for it, hating himself for even allowing the ghost in, when he hears Viktor speak up.

“You know, I never got to ask you for your name.”

When Yuuri turns to look at the man, he sees that he’s gotten up into a sitting position, shy smile back in place. The part of him that wants to bolt screams at him as he says, “Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor tests out, unknowingly causing a shiver to run down said man’s spine. “Thank you for everything, Yuuri.”

Again, Yuuri just nods. He announces to no one in particular that he’s going to sleep, earning a chuckle from the man sitting on his bed. Yuuri makes his way towards the man and lies down on the other side of the bed, keeping as much distance between as the ratty queen size would allow. He draws the cover over his chin and keeps his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep.

“Good night, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, his voice barely reaching Yuuri through the erratic beating of his heart.

 

 

 

Few words can be used to describe Viktor, Yuuri only begrudgingly admitting that _handsome_ is one of them. He’s also quite obviously _talented_ , and from what Yuuri knows of him (virtually nothings), he also seems to be _kind_. _Peculiar_ , yes, seeing as it’s pretty hard to find a ghost that isn’t somehow weird. More than anything, though, Viktor is definitely a _shocker_.

Yuuri wakes up to blue-green eyes mere inches away from his face, causing him to yelp and grab the covers to pull it closer to his body. He watches as Viktor moves away, a small smile playing on the silver-haired man’s lips, his eyes never leaving Yuuri’s face. “Uh, yes? What is it?” 

“You have very long eyelashes,” Viktor announces, still staring and smiling at Yuuri.

Yuuri can’t decide if he’s more unnerved or flustered. “I, um, thanks?”

“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” Viktor asks him, causing Yuuri’s jaw to drop. “I think I could still make poached eggs if I try.”

Yuuri shakes his head, climbing out of the bed and stretching his arms out. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I actually don’t have any eggs right now.” Matter of fact, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to eat stale bread for breakfast. He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping on his day off. 

Yuuri pads over to the kitchen and makes himself some toast and a cup of tea, feeling Viktor’s eyes on him. Yuuri knows for a fact that ghosts don’t eat or, at the very least, they don’t eat human food. When Viktor declines Yuuri’s offer of breakfast (to no one’s surprise), he instead requests for something else.

“Can I come with you?”

Yuuri chokes on his tea. “What?”

The ghost is sitting on the table, pouting (to Yuuri’s surprise) and waiting for Yuuri’s response.

“I don’t know...” Yuuri brings a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, feeling nervous and a bit worried that this could be Viktor becoming clingy. The last time a ghost had gotten too attached to Yuuri, he had ended up here. “What would you even do there?”

“I just like listening to the music,” Viktor tells him. “I promise I won’t cause any harm, you won’t even know I’m there.”

“I would know,” Yuuri tells him. He looks at the silver-haired man, still perched on his table, briefly contemplating if he could just play music for Viktor here while he’s at work. He sees something in Viktor’s expression (or he tells himself that he sees something) that makes him give in. “Okay, but no messing with the displays, no scaring people, and no distracting me from work.”

Viktor nods, the smile he gives Yuuri enough for the latter not to immediately regret his decision. As Yuuri prepares for the day, he makes Viktor sit and wait inside the kitchen. Inside the confines of the bathroom, Yuuri strains his ears to try and hear if anything happens outside. He survives the quick shower he takes without incident and pulls on his clothes, keeping an eye on the door as if Viktor would just barge in to look at his naked body.

When he pads his way towards the makeshift _genkan_ , Viktor follows after him. He’s in the process of lacing up his shoes when he hears Viktor speak.

“Do you always walk to work?”

“Yes,” Yuuri finds himself lying. The store is within walking distance of his apartment but he always takes the bus, the cold almost unbearable this time of the year. Last night had him almost freezing his thumbs off but he had kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t know why but ghosts are generally unable to ride any form of transportation, walking their only way of travelling.  With Viktor coming along today, Yuuri had thrown on an extra layer of clothing.

“Even in this weather? I can’t feel it but I know it’s cold,” Viktor presses, the urgency in his voice startling Yuuri.

“Yeah, I like the exercise.” He stands up and turns to face Viktor, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat the other male in hopes of reassuring him. “It’s good for the lungs.”

“Thank you, Yuuri.” It’s said with such sincerity that Yuuri struggles not to look away, his body wanting to shy away from the words spoken with such adoration and gratitude.

Instead, he catches Viktor’s hand in his. “You don’t have to keep saying that, you know. It’s okay.”

Viktor squeezes his hand then Yuuri’s letting go, pulling open the door and stepping outside of his unit. He doesn’t encounter any neighbors on the way and makes it safely outside the complex. There, Viktor moves away from Yuuri, keeping a safe distance between them. Yuuri only comes to understand what Viktor is doing when he spots a ghost briefly eyeing them, most probably wondering if Viktor is following Yuuri. The latter exhales a breath of relief when he sees the store come into view.

Inside, he finds the owner opening the cash register. He nods when he sees Yuuri arrive, sets up the laptop and stars playing music through the sound system before promptly leaving Yuuri alone to do his job. It doesn’t take long for a customer to come in, Yuuri shooting a glance at Viktor to make sure that the silver-haired man wouldn’t do anything.

He only gets a smile before he has to watch Viktor walk further into the store. From the sound of things, Viktor seems to hold up his end of the promise, not bothering anyone including Yuuri. The hours pass with Yuuri only seeing glimpses of Viktor in the store, sitting on top of shelves or looking at displays.

An hour before his lunch break Kristoff arrives, greeting customers and smiling at Yuuri. “Hey, you miss me?”

Yuuri only manages to laugh, completely ignoring the male’s question. Truth be told, he had forgotten that it’s Friday and that Kristoff would be here today. He briefly wonders if he should have taken Viktor with him some other day but his thoughts get interrupted by a pair of hands grabbing his cheeks, forcing his eyes to meet Kristoff’s.

“Did you just laugh?” Kristoff asks, sounding incredulous. “Like a real laugh?”

“I am capable of laughing,” Yuuri says, only slightly annoyed by the man’s antics. 

Kristoff’s eyes widen even further. “And you’re talking! Holy shit, what’s up with that?”

Yuuri just shakes his head at the male, his retort dying on his lips when he sees Viktor standing in front of them. When Kristoff finally lets go of Yuuri’s face, the latter drops his eyes and pretends to dust off imaginary lint from his clothes. He almost jumps when he feels a cold hand caressing his cheek, the touch gentler despite the temperature. Yuuri finds that he doesn’t hate it.

“Wow,” he vaguely hears Kristoff say. “You’re smiling. You should keep doing that, Yuuri, it suits you.”

When he looks up, it’s blue-green eyes that meet his. Viktor smiles at him and says, “He’s right. Happiness does suit you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so originally this was going to be a two-shot but when i was writing the second chapter it got to around 8k words so now this fic will have 3 chapters! yay????

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!!! this is me attempting to give my writer's block the middle finger. please do leave a comment if you can, reviews feed my deprived soul and i really really really want to know what you guys think!!! pls  
> alsoo im levirens on tumblr and ejacyeolate on twitter


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